Forget It
by frostygossamer
Summary: Dean gets amnesia. Sam decides to let him keep it. Post S3. Warnings: established wincest, moral outrage, not fluff, not graphic. COMPLETE
1. All Gone

Summary: Dean gets amnesia. Sam decides to let him keep it. Post S3. Warnings: established wincest, moral outrage, not fluff, not graphic.

A/N: I wrote this in the summer, and I didn't know if I should post it. It's different from the stuff I've been doing lately. It's a little strange, a sort of angsty wincest-what-if. It's fairly short (four parts) and it's just kind of a personal moral dilemma thing. I'll let you decide...

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its fandom, its characters or anything connected to them. I do not make money or profit in any way from this story.

**Forget It (Part 1: All Gone) by frostygossamer**

He opened one bleary eye. The light hurt so much he closed it again fast. It smelled like hospital. Not good. He forced both his eyes open. The off-white ceiling wasn't very interesting, so he tried to move his head. He regretted that straight off. His head felt heavy and it seemed to be wrapped in some kind of a bandage. What the hell had happened to him?

Across the room a pretty nurse noticed his movement and rushed across.

"Hi," she said in a sweetly soothing voice. "We're awake, are we? How are we feeling?"

Why on earth did nurses always have to talk that way? 'We' this. 'We' that. He choked back his irritation and tried to speak. His voice was just a croak.

"Where am I?" he asked, the cliche making him wince inside.

"Holy Wellness Hospital. You were brought in last night, Mr, uh, Waylon," she added, glancing at his details, "with a head injury. How does it feel?"

"Like a jackhammer pounding in my skull," he complained.

"I'll go get you something for that," the nurse replied. "I'm Betty, by the way."

Betty hurried off in search of painkillers. He watched her go, smiling to himself. Nice butt, he thought, at least a stay in hospital had some compensations.

"Waylon?" he mused. "Nope. Don't sound familiar."

With the painkillers came a doctor. He stood by his bed and talked to him about how he was feeling, and how he had gotten there. He had been brought in by some guy after a car accident, so the guy had said. He asked him what he remembered and he said not a thing, not even his name.

The doctor tutted, made some notes then smiled, and assured him that his amnesia should only be temporary. It could happen after the kind of injury that he had sustained, but his memories would probably come back, fairly soon. Permanent memory loss could happen, but it wasn't all that common. He wasn't much comforted by that thought.

The doctor wandered off and he lay back and tried to sleep.

After another hour or so he became aware of two men talking in low tones near the door to his room.

"So how is he?" asked a tall, dark-haired guy.

"Well, physically he's fine, Mr. Jennings. Nothing but superficial damage. We've run a scan and it looks like his brain wasn't seriously hurt, just a little bruised. However, as I feared, he IS suffering from amnesia," the doctor explained.

"Amnesia?" the dark guy asked, sounding very concerned.

"Yes, indeed," the doctor replied. "But it's likely that his memory will return gradually. Some temporary amnesic symptoms aren't unusual in cases of this sort. They're seldom permanent."

The guy looked upset. "Thank you, Doctor," he muttered, as the doc walked away.

The guy came over to his bed.

"Hi, Dean," he said.

"Hi," Dean replied.

So his name was Dean, huh? He gave the strange guy a half-hearted smile.

"So, you're amnesic," the guy said. "Guess you don't remember me then, huh?"

"Sorry, no," Dean replied. "Amnesia equals no memory, right? Hell, didn't even remember my own name."

"OK, well you're Dean," the guy said, "and I'm Sam."

"Pleased to meet you, Sam," Dean said, extending a hand.

Sam passed up the handshake. "I'm your... partner, Dean," he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Partner as in...?" he asked dubiously.

"...as in boyfriend," Sam completed.

"Uh," was all Dean could reply. Now that was unexpected.

~O~

Days passed and Dean's memory still hadn't returned. His doctor told Sam that as time passed that was less and less likely. The amnesia might very well be permanent. His memory could start to come back any time, in chunks maybe, but they should get used to the idea that it might never return.

As soon as Dean was well enough to be discharged from the hospital, Sam picked him up in his car and took him home. Dean was very impressed with the car, a '67 Chevy Impala.

"Well, at least I'm with a guy who's got taste," he said.

Sam smirked. "The Impala's yours, Dean," he chuckled, as he started the engine and pulled away.

"Oh, then guess I got style anyways," Dean replied.

Home was a small two-bedroom apartment not far from the hospital. It looked pretty basic and impersonal.

"Rented it to be near the hospital," Sam explained. "This isn't home. Home is, well... You'll find out soon enough."

Dean sighed. "Guess we got catching up to do, but right now all I wanna do is sleep. OK?"

Sam smiled sympathetically. "Sure, Dean," he said. "I put your stuff in your room. It's the one on the right. I'm in the one on the left."

Dean nodded. He was a little relieved that he wasn't expected to share a room with this guy. Partner or not, Sam was still a total stranger to him. He went to his room and lay down on the bed. Almost instantaneously, he was out like a light.

A few minutes later Sam stuck his head in the room, to check on him. When he saw that he was sleeping peacefully, he smiled and went back in the living room. Then he called Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Oh hi, Sam. How's things?"

"Got Dean back from the hospital. He seems OK."

"Still no memory?"

"Nada. But apart from that he's good."

"Can I speak to him?"

"He's asleep. Maybe later."

"Sure. You OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little fazed by Dean, is all."

"Well, it's gotta be kinda weird. Dean with no memory. Like a blank sheet of paper waiting to be written on. Guess you're gonna have to clue him in with the last thirty-some years. Glad I'm not gonna be part of THAT conversation."

"That's just it, Bobby."

"Huh?"

"Not gonna tell him."

"Whaddya mean, not tell him?"

"I mean I'm not gonna tell him about Mom, Dad, a lost childhood, Jess, Dad's deal, his deal, Hell, our real freakin' surnames, even that we're brothers, nothing."

"Sam! You can't..."

"Bobby, Dean has a chance to start again, without the regrets, without the nightmares, without the pain. I'm not gonna take that away from him."

There was silence from Bobby's end of the line, then,

"Yeah, I guess. But what if he starts to remember?"

"The doc said he might never remember, but if he does then no problem. If old Dean comes back then fine. If he doesn't then so much the better."

"OK then Sam. So take care and tell Dean I... Oh yeah, well, bye."

Sam closed his cell and put it back in his pocket. He was doing the right thing. He wasn't being selfish, no. He was just looking out for Dean. He owed him that.

~O~

Sam had gotten himself a job clerking in a local store, so there was money for rent and food. Dean spent his days recuperating, watching TV and hanging out at the local diner.

Cathy, the waitress at the diner, was a bit of a looker. Dean couldn't help but watch her appreciatively, as she glided around the place flirting with the customers. If he hadn't been gay...

But apparently he was in a relationship with Sam. Sam seemed to be a real nice guy, and he couldn't deny there was something there, some affection certainly.

They were still sleeping in separate rooms.

TBC

A/N: Thirty years gone and the relationship he's in seems off. Dean's all confused.


	2. Not Enough

**Forget It (Part 2: Not Enough) by frostygossamer**

Watching TV and eating pizza every night was getting old, so one night Sam suggested they go out to a bar. Dean agreed. He felt like he needed to get out too, but he was a little nervous that Sam and he would end up in a gay bar. To his great relief, that didn't happen.

The bar Sam chose was populated by a colourful mixture of local characters. Sam and Dean sat at the bar and Sam ordered two beers. Dean started to eat peanuts from a bowl on the bar. When he noticed, Sam slapped his hand away.

"Jeez, Dean," he hissed. "Do you know how many germs there are in the average bowl of bar snacks?"

"No, Mom," Dean mocked him. "How many?" and he continued eating.

Sam growled. Dean chuckled to himself. The guy was sure acting the nagging wife.

"So, tell me something, man," Dean began, trying to make conversation. "How did you and me meet up?"

Sam hesitated. He didn't know if he should make up some story.

"Dean," he said. "The doc said I'd better not talk to you about the past. He said the memories had to come back naturally, without prompting. Sorry."

Dean nodded. He thought maybe he'd heard that someplace before.

"OK, then," he tried again. "But how long have we been together, roughly? Tell me that at least, dude."

Sam thought a moment, taking a sip from his drink.

"Since forever," he said, smiling. "But really together for maybe three years."

Dean nodded to himself. Three years was a relationship. That's for sure. He must have been real seriously into this guy.

The lady bartender had been eyeballing the pair of them for a while. She came over and fussed around clearing the bar.

"You guys from out of town?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "Just passing through, kinda." His manner was a little brisk, like he wanted to discourage conversation.

The woman turned her attention to Dean.

"Cos I woulda remembered a couple of good-looking guys like you," she explained, flirtatiously.

Dean gave her the once-over. Nice eyes, nice lips, nice rack, nice butt. He flashed her the trademark grin. He could practically see her heart flutter. Sam vanished from his mind.

"You got a good memory, Terry?" he asked with a smirk, reading her name badge.

Terry beamed at him. "I got a great memory for big tippers and handsome guys," she said.

"One out of two ain't bad," he joshed, leaning on the bar.

Terry giggled and leaned toward him, her ample bosom proud and unashamed. "I finish in a hour," she whispered.

Forgotten by his side, Sam gave a little cough. Dean suddenly remembered that he was there. He sat back and smiled regretfully.

"Sorry," he said. "Not tonight, Terry. I'm kinda on lay-by."

Sam shuffled uncomfortably on his bar stool. He downed his drink in one and banged the bottle down on the bar unnecessarily loudly, breaking the connection between Dean and the girl.

"Gonna go back home," he sighed. "Been a long day, Dean. Need to get myself some sleep."

Dean was a little surprised. He was just starting to enjoy himself, but he downed his drink, winked at the girl and followed Sam out the bar.

"Didn't have to come along, man," Sam told him outside.

"Now why would I wanna stay, dude?" Dean asked. Except, he thought, for the way that girl had gotten him feeling so, well, horny.

~O~

Sam yawned theatrically as they entered their apartment, and he made straight for his room.

Dean went to his own room, got undressed and sat on the bed for a while, thinking. Although he tried to pretend otherwise, Sam was angry with him for flirting with that pretty piece of tail in the bar. He couldn't blame Sam since they were supposed to be in a relationship, but, hell, Dean couldn't stop himself coming on a little strong. He was feeling ridiculously sex-starved. And Sam wasn't helping. For a so called 'boyfriend' he was keeping himself very much to himself.

Dean weighed up his options. 1: go on doing without sex, 2: go find himself a girl behind Sam's back, 3: go fuck Sam. Hmm? Well, 1 was impossible, sooner or later he knew he would crack, 2 would be easy but a no-no and 3? Well, he was supposed to be gay for this guy, wasn't he?

Dean got up and crossed the hall to Sam's door. He knocked softly then opened it a crack and peeked in. Sam was laying in bed reading a book. He looked up questioningly.

"You awake?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Looks like it," he replied, his tone of voice betraying that he was still just a little pissed with him.

Dean went on in and sat on the end of Sam's bed. "Want some company, man?" he asked, leadingly.

Sam raised an eyebrow and stared at Dean for a moment, then he put his book on the nightstand and turned back to smile at him.

"Yeah, sure," he said, his smile widening. "Feeling lonely?"

Dean returned his smile uncertainly. "Feeling horny," he replied.

Sam chuckled. "Like always, dude," he commented, and pulled off his T-shirt. "Let's see what I can do about that."

Dean took Sam's lead and slipped out of his things. Sam moved over and let Dean slide in bed beside him. Dean lay back against the pillows feeling on edge, closed his eyes and breathed deeply to calm his nerves. He heard Sam chuckle softly and felt his big body loom over him. Sam's nose tickled his cheek as their lips met.

Dean put his hands on Sam's broad shoulders, ready to push him away if he needed to. He felt Sam run a big hand over his chest, across his nipples and down over his hip, then around to caress and squeeze his butt-cheek.

Dean's back arched instinctively, thrusting his hips up into Sam's body. He felt strangely disassociated as his body cleaved to his lover. It seemed to remember what his mind had forgotten. Dean tried to clear his mind and let his body go.

As Sam deepened the kiss, Dean stopped pushing at him, and his fingers slid behind Sam's neck, pulling him closer. Dean's arms slipped further around Sam's back, pulling him tighter against his chest. As Sam began to bite at his collarbone, Dean threw back his head and gasped, "Jeez, Sam, I need this so bad."

It felt good. God, it felt so damn good. And easy. Easy like they had done it hundreds of times before, every glorious passion filled night for years. Dean couldn't deny it. Sam knew exactly where to touch him, and he was more than good at it.

They collapsed panting in a tangle of limbs and, as Sam placed a reverent kiss on his temple, Dean realised, if this was how being gay felt, that he wanted it.

~O~ The next morning Dean woke up naked and alone in Sam's bed. Sunlight was drifting in through the half-open window, and the smell of eggs and bacon floated through the apartment.

Dean got up and wandered into the bathroom to wash up, then he put on some clothes and joined Sam in the kitchen.

"Eggs," Dean observed.

"Yeah, and bacon," Sam replied. "Pancakes on the side," he added, indicating the pancake pan in his hand.

Dean sat down and tucked straight in. Sam added the final pancakes to the stack and carried them to the table, sitting down across from Dean. They ate silently for a while, until Sam broke the silence.

"You OK about last night, man?" he asked uncertainly.

"Sure," Dean replied quickly.

"Sure?" Sam asked.

Dean paused from eating. "This is all kinda... new to me," he explained.

"New?" Sam returned, chuckling. "Dean, we've been together a long time."

"I know, I guess," Dean replied. "But those three years are gone, Sam. And last night was kinda like the first time for me."

Sam coughed uncomfortably. He hadn't thought about it that way.

"Well, you know, Dean, I WAS your first. Your first guy, that is."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously."

"Then I guess it was you turned me gay, dude," Dean laughed.

"Kinda," Sam replied.

~O~

After that first awkward time, Dean got used to being with Sam. At last he began to feel like he really was in a relationship, and one that seemed to be working out pretty good.

It felt like they were a couple, like they had always been a couple. And they were soon getting comfortable around each other again, like nothing had changed, like before the savage harpy attack on Dean that had hospitalized him and stolen his past.

Meanwhile Sam was telling himself he had made the right decision. He knew he was being selfish. He should have told Dean right up front that he and Dean were brothers. But if he had done that he would have kissed their fragile, desperate romance goodbye.

After all they had only gotten into that totally wrong but as necessary as air thing because Dean was going to Hell in a matter of days, and they couldn't let go of each other, not for one moment.

Dean had needed to imprint every inch of Sam, the sound of him, the smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of him, on his memory, because he was going to Hell for eternity and he needed to remember, remember everything.

Of course, when Dean had come back there had been Ruby, and Dean would never forgive Sam for that. But they had gotten over it because they had to, because they needed to be together.

Without knowing about Hell, there was no way that Dean could ever understand how they had gotten so into each other. And no way was Sam going to tell Dean about Hell, no way. If Dean found out he had been sleeping with his brother, without knowing the how and the why, then that special thing they had would be over for good.

Sam had thought about that long and hard, before he had introduced himself to Dean in the hospital. He had checked Dean in under a false name, and given them a fake credit card. So it had been easy to go on being those two fake people, two unrelated guys who could so easily be a couple.

People had an annoying habit of assuming that anyways. That way he and Dean could be together, and they could resume their thing as soon as Dean was settled and OK around him again.

Sam's plan seemed to be working, just so long as Dean didn't find out the truth about who they really were, at least not too soon.

Then Bobby decided to give Sam a call.

TBC

A/N: Sam should have known Bobby was going to worry about Dean.


	3. No Way

**Forget It (Part 3: No Way) by frostygossamer**

The old hunter hadn't called for a few weeks, but Bobby had been thinking about what Sam had said. Sam was right, he guessed. Dean did deserve another chance. He could see that. But he really didn't like the idea that no past for Dean meant not seeing the boys again.

He cared about Sam and Dean, and he really wanted to know how things were with them. So he called Sam. But Sam was out at work, so Dean happened to pick up his forgotten cell phone.

"Hi there, Sam, it's Bobby."

"Bobby? Oh, uh, hi. Sam's not here right now..."

"Dean? That you?"

"Yeah, this is Dean. I'm sorry but, uh, should I know you?"

"Sure you do. Known you both since you was little kids. I was a friend of your dad's."

"Oh?"

Dean was intrigued. This guy knew his father? Knew him and Sam since they were kids? Should he ask him about some of the stuff he was dying to know, about his past?

"Oh yeah, Dad's old friend Bobby. Maybe you could tell me about..."

Bobby suddenly remembered what Sam had said about no past life. He cut in.

"Hell no, boy. I'm not filling you in 'bout nuthin'. You gotta ask Sam 'bout that kinda thing. He warned me, no promptin'."

Dean sighed. "Sure. You want me to give you Sam's number at work?"

"No need. It's OK. I'll call your brother later tonight. See ya," and he rang off.

It wasn't until a few minutes later, as he was pouring himself a well earned slug of whiskey, that Bobby suddenly realised what he had said.

He shrugged. "Aw shucks," he thought. "Least ways I didn't let slip anything important."

~O~

Around 6pm, Sam walked into their apartment, tired after a long boring day at the store.

"Oh hi, Dean," he said, as he came in the door. "Everything OK?"

Dean was sitting in the living room, staring at the floor. He didn't reply. This worried Sam some.

"You feeling OK, Dean? You're not sick...?"

Dean raised his head and gave him a poisonous glare.

"You're asking ME if I'm sick?" he snapped, his tone sarcastic. "Seriously?"

Sam quailed. "What is it? What's wrong, Dean?"

"Your friend Bobby called."

Sam paled. Hell, what had Bobby told him?

"I went along with that shit about letting the memories come back naturally. Maybe that wasn't entirely dumb. But there was one goddamn thing I think you really should have told me, Sam."

"Listen, I had a good reason..."

"You're my BROTHER, Sam. What possible goddamn reason could you have to keep that from me? Hell, Sam, you told me we were TOGETHER. Damn it, Sam, why did you lie to me? So you could FUCK me? Why in the hell would you even do that?"

Dean was angry, real angry, but Sam could hear the pain in his voice.

"It's not what you think," Sam insisted.

"Dunno what the hell to think, Sam," Dean retorted.

"It's just," Sam hesitated, not knowing how to say what he needed to say. "It's just that there are things in your past, in our past, that you can't know. Bad things. Goddamn nightmarish things. And being brothers was all part of it. Couldn't tell you about that without telling you the rest. There are things that you should never know. Painful things. Unforgivable things."

"More unforgivable than incest, Sam? More unforgivable than fucking your own brother? That I'm finding DAMN hard to believe."

"Believe it, Dean," Sam said. "Trust me. Loving each other was the one righteous thing we did."

Dean growled and stared Sam right in the eyes. "Need to hear it all, Sam."

"No. You don't," Sam replied quietly, then went and locked himself in his room.

~O~

Dean didn't know what to do. He felt like he needed to get out of there, put some miles between him and Sam, take some time to think. Sam had told him that the Impala was his, so he took it and hit the road.

It felt good to be driving, but where could he go? He didn't know where. He didn't know anybody. He pulled over at a diner for coffee and to think.

The old Dean would have just hit the accelerator, and followed the highway wherever it took him. But that was the Dean who knew just what nasties were out there, and wasn't afraid of any of them. The new Dean was ignorant, innocent even, of the worst the world could offer. Like any normal guy, he longed for the familiar. And there was precious little of that for Dean now.

He had sat for a while, brooding over his coffee, when he thought of that phone call from Bobby, his dad's old friend, apparently. Maybe he could help. He made a call.

"Hi. Bobby Singer. Who's calling?"

"Oh hi, Bobby, it's Dean. Dean Waylon."

There was a moment's silence at the other end of the line.

"Dean? You mean Sam's Dean, right? Where in the hell did you come up with a damn fool name like Waylon?"

Dean was confused. "You mean that's not my real name? So what is it?"

"Thinking I'm not supposed to say. Didn't Sam tell ya? Maybe shoulda kept my goddamn trap shut."

"It's OK, Bobby. Sam's told me some stuff already. You can say what you like," Dean lied. "Guess he just forgot about the name thing."

Bobby chuckled. "You guys and your name games."

"Listen, Bobby, can I come over? Need to get away from Sam for a while, and don't know anyone else."

"Oh sure," Bobby replied. "Mi casa es tu casa, boy. Come on over anytime."

"Thanks. Well, you gonna have to give me some directions."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Directions."

~O~

A few hours later Dean drew up at Bobby's yard, to be greeted at the gate by Bobby and Rumsfeld. Dean eyed the big dog suspiciously.

"He housebroke?" he asked uncertainly.

"Gentle as a baby," Bobby laughed, scratching Rumsfeld's ear.

The dog trotted over to Dean and licked the back of his hand sloppily. Dean patted the creature on the head, and then wiped his hand on his jeans.

"Come on in," Bobby said, and ushered Dean into the house. In the living room he pointed to a chair and asked, "Whiskey?"

"Sure."

Bobby handed Dean a glass, then sat down with his and took a swig.

"You two had another falling out?" he asked. "What's it about this time?"

"We fight a lot, huh?" Dean asked sullenly.

"Just every other week," Bobby chuckled.

"Yeah, well, guess that's how brothers are," Dean replied grimly.

"But you always make it up," Bobby insisted. "You bitch and you squabble but you're pretty tight, you and Sam. Nothing gets between you two for long."

"Guess old Sam's pretty damn fond of his little brother," Dean observed in a snarky tone.

"His BIG brother," Bobby corrected him. "And, sure, he'd walk through fire for ya. Anytime. And so would you for him."

Dean studied his drink for a while.

"Do you think there's something wrong with us, Bobby?"

"Hell, yeah," Bobby declared. "You two idjits are as crazy as a box of monkeys. But guess you're gonna get that, living this life of ours. And after everything you've been through."

"Been through?" Dean repeated, now curious.

Bobby opened his mouth to say something, but then he suddenly remembered what Sam had said to him.

"But that's another story," he said instead. "And not one for me to tell. You need to ask Sam about all that."

Dean felt a little disappointed. He tried another tack.

"So, you were a friend of Dad's," he asked casually.

"Yeah," Bobby smiled sadly and drained his glass. "But that's also another story. For another time. You hungry?" and he got up and wandered into the kitchen. "Got steaks. Sound good?"

~O~

After they had finished the steaks, Bobby cleared away their plates.

He chuckled. "Got a treat for ya here, boy," he said. "Neighbour of mine's a damn fine cook. She brought me this over yesterday."

He retrieved a large, homemade apple pie from the fridge and put two generous slices on plates. He stuck one in from of Dean.

Dean looked at it askance. "Pie?" he said, not making a move.

"Yeah, pie!" Bobby confirmed, confused. "Since when've you ever turned your damn nose up at pie?"

"Maybe since I forgot my whole life," Dean retorted, bitterly.

"Beelzebub's britches, boy. Long as I've known ya, pie's been the nearest thing ya got to true religion," Bobby declared. "You sure are screwed up."

Dean ate the pie. And he had to admit it was damn good pie.

TBC

A/N: Poor Dean feels like his trust's been abused. Not a good place to be in.


	4. Too Much

A/N: OK. I said this would be a four chapter thing, so here's the final chapter...

**Forget It (Part 4: Too Much) by frostygossamer**

Dean slept fitfully that night. As he walked downstairs the next morning, he could hear Bobby talking on the phone to someone.

"Yeah, he's here. Call off the dogs, Sam. Arrived last night. Don't know what's going on between the two of you, but his mood ain't good. Maybe you should let him have some space for a few days. Don't mind baby-sitting the guy for a while. Just a shame I can't get him working on my truck. She's needing a tune up. Ha ha ha!" then he spotted Dean.

"Oh, morning, Dean. You up already? He's right here, Sam. Dean, you want a word with him?"

Dean made a negative hand gesture.

"No? Sure. OK, Sam. See ya," Bobby put the phone down. "That was Sam," he explained, somewhat redundantly.

"Got that," Dean replied. "Not speaking to the guy right now. Not yet, anyways."

Bobby nodded. "Still sore about whatever, huh?"

Dean growled. "Still sore, sure. Sore as hell."

"Well, for what it's worth, Sam seems kinda contrite 'bout it," Bobby offered, pouring them both a mug of black coffee.

He passed a mug to Dean. "You wanna talk?"

Dean wished he could, but he wasn't about to talk about his sexual transgressions with this strange older guy. The two men sat down at Bobby's kitchen table and drank their coffee silently.

Bobby was right, though. Something inside Dean needed to talk. He needed to get his feelings about Sam's betrayal out in the open. And, after all, who better to tell than a complete stranger. They say confession is good for the soul.

But how do you explain that you've just found out that the guy you've been FUCKING for the last couple months is actually your own BROTHER? And, worse than that, the guy has been DELIBERATELY hiding it from you! When you TRUSTED him! Lying to you! Lying through his goddamn deceitful fucking TEETH! For reasons that could only be described as BEYOND DEVIANT!

Dean was mad and he didn't know where to start. So he started with something he thought would be common knowledge.

"You do know that Sam is gay, right?" he began carefully.

"Gay? Sam? Who ya joshin', boy? That kid's as straight as you or me," Bobby retorted.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Sure. Why, he was gonna marry that poor gal Jess, right? I know he's not exactly a pussy-hound in your league, but, yeah, he likes the ladies. Why?"

Dean digested that last comment in regard to himself.

"Pussy-hound?" he repeated, blankly.

"Oops. Hell, guess that's what they would call a mite non-PC," Bobby chuckled. "I should say 'ladies' man' or some such crap."

Dean considered. "So you're saying I'm not gay?"

Bobby nearly laughed himself off of his chair. "Hell, Dean, if you turn gay it would likely mean the end of the world. Hell, I may as well turn queer too, and we can expect the rest of mankind to follow right along. Goddamn 'End of the World'. Ha!"

Bobby was now weeping tears of mirth. He pulled an enormous handkerchief out of his pocket and began mopping his eyes.

"Dean gay! Ha ha!" he muttered to himself between chuckles. "Ha ha ha ha!"

Dean got up and walked into the living room. He grabbed his cell and speed-dialled Sam. Sam picked up the call, but there was silence at his end of the line. Dean could hear him breathing.

"Sam, you sonovabitch, don't pretend like you're not there. I got some questions and I sure as hell want some answers."

"Dean," Sam replied, his voice full of emotion. "I dunno what Bobby's told you but..."

"He's told me shit," Dean hissed. "Like the shit I got from you. I don't know what the hell's going on, Sam, but I know you've been playing me like some dupe. And I'm not gonna..."

"Listen, Dean," Sam interrupted. "Just listen up a minute. Before you hang me, I want you to ask Bobby something for me."

Dean caught a breath. "What?" he asked tersely.

"Just ask him if there's a real good reason why you can't know about the last thirty years of your life. Something so bad it would break you. Something that would make it worth starting over new. Ask him."

Dean turned to look at Bobby, who had calmed down, and was sitting drinking his coffee, with only a silly smile on his face.

"I'll ask him," he said.

Bobby listened to Sam's question. His face fell into a frown.

"Yeah," he said. "Yes, boy. I would say there's plenty reason."

Dean was mute for a moment, then he raised his cell to his ear again.

"He said..."

Sam cut him off. "I know. Now ask him was being brothers part of it."

Dean repeated Sam's question.

Bobby choked for a moment. "Yeah, Dean. Guess that was kinda the heart of the whole goddamn thing," he agreed sadly.

Dean put down his cell, and went and sat in Bobby's den, with his face in his hands. He didn't know what the hell this was all about, and he didn't know what the hell to think.

Bobby picked up Dean's abandoned cell and put it to his ear.

"Think you should come get him, Sam," he said. "Think he needs you."

~O~

Sam got to Bobby's by nightfall. When he banged on the door he found Bobby had already gone to bed. The old hunter was a little grumpy about being woken up. When they looked in Dean's room it was empty. Outside, no Impala.

"Hell, not again," Sam swore.

"He won't have gone far," Bobby assured him. "He wasn't in the mood to bolt. Think you'll find him in the nearest bar."

And Sam did.

Dean was sitting in a booth nursing a double whiskey. Clearly it wasn't his first. Sam slid into the seat across from him.

"Dean," he said.

Dean didn't look up from his glass.

"I just need to know why," he said. "That simple. Why?"

"Because I love you," Sam replied. "That simple."

Dean raised his head and stared into Sam's eyes for a moment, searchingly.

"I don't know why, but you've let your dick rule your head, Sam," he began calmly. "And it's dragged you way off of the freeway into the goddamn ditch. You can't erase someone's whole damn life, and remake it how you want. You can't just tear up who and what we were, and rewrite it with some freakin' fairy tale ending, simply because you think you're 'in love' with someone you're not supposed to have," he shoved away his glass. "It's just wrong."

"Why?" Sam quietly asked. "Why is it wrong? Why can't we start new, the way we want it to be?"

"We?" Dean repeated, incredulous.

"Yeah 'we'," Sam replied, earnestly. "It's what we both wanted, Dean. And now maybe we can even have it."

"No, we can't," Dean said, flatly. "Cos to me you're not my brother, and you're not my lover. You're nothing, Sam. And now you're never going to be."

And he got up and walked out.

Sam was stunned. All he could do was sit and stare blankly at the door, as he listened to the sound of the Impala starting up and roaring away, for good.

~O~

Three weeks later, Dean woke up alone in a sleazy motel someplace, with his memory ninety per cent returned. He reached for his cell.

"Sammy?"

~O~

Sam sat in the Impala, engine idling, passenger door open, waiting for his brother to finish up inside. Dean had given him the motel's name and his room number on the phone, so he hadn't knocked, hadn't even tooted the horn. Dean would have heard his ride drop him off, would have been waiting.

Eventually the room door opened and Dean emerged with his duffel in his hand, face impassive. He ignored the open passenger door, walked around to the driver's side and just stood. Sam exhaled and slid across the seat into shotgun, closing his side. Dean opened the driver's door, tossed his bag onto the back seat and flopped into his usual position.

Dean didn't speak, he simply started the engine and pulled away.

As the highway miles sped by, Sam found himself worrying about the inevitable argument that was going to erupt, as soon as they had a chance to stop and talk about this thing.

Dean's face was stony, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He had to be angry, not so much as when Sam had last seen him, maybe, but still mad. He was going to tell Sam that he'd made a big fucking mistake by not putting him wise to the whole truth right away, no matter what.

Sam was sure Dean was going to chew his ass for letting himself stew in the poisonous damn memories alone, without his big brother to help him. That was what Dean was goddamn there for, that was his job, to protect him. Dean was going to tell Sam that he hadn't gone through HELL for him just to let his little brother suffer that freakin' guilt trip on his own.

Busy pondering his possible comeback to that tirade, Sam hadn't noticed when Dean had pulled off of the highway onto a country road. The track lead toward a quiet stream, sheltered from the sound of traffic by a stand of trees. He hadn't actually noticed until Dean put the Impala in park and got out. Dean wandered towards the river side and halted, staring far off, with his back to Sam and his arms folded.

After a minute's hesitation, Sam got out the car and walked up to stand beside his brother. He thought he should say something, but he didn't know what to say. He scanned the view along the river. It was a pretty view.

Sam waited, his hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. They stood side by side in silence for five or so before his brother spoke. Dean drew in a long breath, as if he was about to start a rant, but then he let it go.

"You made the right call, Sammy," he said, in barely a whisper.

Sam nodded sadly. "Sorry, man," he replied, managing a weak smile.

"Forget it," Dean answered, sighing.

Sam hesitated a moment. "So..," he asked, nervously. "We good?"

"We're good," Dean confirmed. "We're always good, dude. We're brothers."

Dean turned and moved towards his little brother, burying his face for a moment in Sam's shoulder.

"No one wants to remember Hell, baby. But you shouldn't have let me forget you."

That's all he said. They got back in the Impala, and got on with their lives together.

The End

A/N: There. That's the end. I thought it was a little angsty for me, but I sort of liked it somehow. Hope you did too.


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